Forbidden Lovers
by Chocobo Mushroom
Summary: In an ancient kingdom, a prince finds himself lost and dissatisfied within the luxuries of life, while a western diplomat appears to lure him into an impossible labyrinth of love, lust, anger, and regret. Yogi and Gareki in a tossing drama. Mature.
1. The Bitter Heart

**Title:** An Ocean Apart: The Bitter Heart

**Author:** Chocobo Mushroom

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** Yogi & Gareki

**Disclaimers:** I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval.

**Warning:** Not for young readers... And I botched the characters pretty bad to fit my story... so if you don't like it, don't read.

**A/N:** It's been forever since I've put out a story. I concentrated more on emotional balance this time. This story is pretty important to me. I should be protected by some sort of copyright... so respect my work. Please.

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It was boring. The broken petals, the dull wine, the endless ceremonies, the useless formalities; they were all a form of torture that he couldn't take anymore. The same endless pattern with not one new face or activity was slowly driving him mad. Swordplay and practice could not make him shed the fatigue of his Prince life. Gareki was the Emperor's son, the regal majesty's heir. He would be the father of the next heir, and so on. Everyday he woke to twenty maids to help his dressing and prep. He bathed in lilac and milk to soften his inner bloodlust. He ate fine crispy roast duck with green onions and hoisin sauce for breakfast. For lunch he dined with ambassadors from the New World and the Ancient cities. He feasted on puff pastries and jam cookies, on stuffed partridges and swan-carved pineapple. His fruit was chilled and molded, designed into the most exotic and beautiful of animals. His food was always imported and it was tested for poison by an old servant. He wore the finest threaded silk in the entire Legion. It was embroidered with the delicate lotuses and dragons, the epitome of luxury and finesse. He lounged in the coolest lotus gardens, with maple wood floors and sickly sweet rice wine.

But he was bored. He lacked something. A basic need.

His father was strict but understanding. He enlisted for courtesans and concubines to help out Gareki, his majesty, but he pushed them away in anger. He didn't want those fake women, with their abused thighs and powder-caked faces. Their nasally voices and seductive touches made him want to spit. He did enjoy the lotus gardens though. The way the delicate flowers swayed heavily from their own beauty and caught rain with their deformed umbrellas made him feel at ease.

It was in his garden that he met _him_.

Gareki was drinking sweet jasmine rice wine on a rainy day in the water garden. The drizzle pattered onto the thin paper dividers. He sat under a clay tile and wood awning by himself, watching the slow dance that the lotus pond found itself in. The pink tinted petals on each dancer bounced with the fall of heaven's dew. Gareki got up and gracefully leaned at the edge. He pulled back his heavy sleeve to reach out for a core. It broke with a twist of his wrist as he carefully got up and sat again. Falling into a pond was not the most regal thing he could do. With a satisfyingly fresh crack he retrieved the seeds out of the reluctant (green )lotus core. He peeled one to the white body. Inside was a bitter heart, but he didn't bother to take it out. His father had once told him that bitter things made life sweeter. Also that taking out the bitter things in life made him a coward unworthy of being a good emperor. He understood that much.

The slow patter of rain grew in power, and proceeded to drown out the sound of Gareki's thoughts. He tsked. Some of the flowers were drooping and breaking petals off, bending over as if humbled. But Gareki would not attempt the foolish act of pushing the beauties back upright, because he knew that it would be impossible in the rain, and that to catch the next emperor getting drenched in a torrent was highly disgraceful and a shameful thought.

The clickety clack of sounds on cobblestone make him squint through the cream dividers. A shadow quickly stopped and entered the garden, a blue silken umbrella hiding the user. After the figure entered the safety of the awning, he retracted his umbrella, revealing hair the color of golden wheat and eyes sparkling of a delicate lavender. He sighed in relief and didn't seem to notice the stunned Prince. He first thought was that he was an outsider. A notary maybe? Some kind of ambassador? No, too young. An important guest, for diplomatic reasons, most likely. The second thing he realized was that this guy didn't want his life anymore, obviously, since he didn't even begin to apologize for entering the Majesty's presence without his consent. He didn't kneel or greet him in a ceremonial gesture. The third thing that made him cringe; was the possibility if the man being an assassin. But he deemed it unlikely, with him being an outsider. A skilled assassin maybe? But he calmed his unsteady temperament. He wanted to see how this man would treat him without those fancy names and precautions. Assassins would still be courteous. Just as he made up his mind, the man finished wringing out the bottom of his robe of water and finally noticed his presence.

"Ah! Sorry, I didn't know someone was here. Just trying to keep out of the rain. You don't mind if I wait it out here?" His pronounciation was a bit accented, from a nearby region, but otherwise, he spoke perfectly. So he was a half-breed then, with an outsider. The perfect diplomatic weapon.

Gareki didn't have time to respond with sarcasm before the man sat in the chair beside him. Did he really not notice his fine clothing? That the table and chairs were made of lacquered cherry wood and the cushions of the finest down and silks? The man poured Gareki and himself a cup of rice wine. He held it up. He was either extremely friendly, or extremely rude. If he was an assassin, he wouldn't have minded dying in a few moments of friendship. They clinked the cups together, and Gareki felt a strange part of him feel satisfied, his spirit more present, his mind more at ease. The torrent of rain became a steady rhythmic downfall, instead of being chaotic.

The man drank with him the cup emptied in one go and lifted for the other to see that it was indeed empty. Gareki offered him the lotus core, an act he had never done before. His mind acted on its own. Only after the man had graciously accepted it with a charming smile did he voraciously blush at his naivety. They were strangers, and they did not know anything of each other. He was the Emperor's son! What if the court heard about this? If this man was lower than a nobleman- what would they say about him? "The Emperor's son shared tea with lower-class scum." He could hear the whispers already.

The lavender-eyed creature peeled a heart and slit it open, taking out the bitter green shoot in the middle and eating the white body.

"Oh..." The sound escaped from Gareki's lips.

"Hmm?" The blonde haired stranger looked up intently.

"It's just that you took out the bitter heart. Why did you do that?" He demanded, not used to talking casually. The man threw him a crooked grin while he thought.

"Well, why not? Why live through the bitterness if you have a choice otherwise?"

"But that makes you weak. Choosing the easier path will always mean that you are weak."

"You can see it that way. But to me there is no easy or hard path. Rather, you already did the hard work. You already broke the stem, cracked the core, and peeled the heart. What's left is for you to choose between a sweet or a bitter ending."

Gareki sniffed at his response he was miffed at being lectured by a stranger- an outsider no less. He could have killed him for talking back to him. Death by a hundred lashes. Death by dismemberment. Death by poisons. But that was all too harsh. For revenge, he wanted to see his stunned face after the outsider left the lotus garden and inquired the servant who it belonged to. That would satisfy him. A small smile formed on his lips. He downed his wine and gazed at the dripping rain that was beginning to ease. The man noticed at the same time.

"I think it's time for me to leave." He fumbled inside his robe to take out a silver contraption, with a long chain attached to it. He edged away, thinking it was a weapon, but the golden-haired man didn't attack him. He leaned forward to see that it was a western pocket watch. An outsider indeed. The man struggled to arrange his clothing. It suited him, although a bit out of place. He must have worn the traditional clothing to appease the Emperor's conservative tastes.

"Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Mr..."

"Gareki." He had to try hard not to add any regal additions to his name. He was already taken aback at the fact that the outsider didn't introduce himself first, and when he thought about it, the man should have introduced himself as soon as he saw him under the awning. "And to you, Mr..."

"You can call me Yogi."

"Good-bye, Yogi." He felt his face twitch up into a smile. The amethyst-eyed gave him an earnest but small smile. The Highness caught a look of curiousity as he swept his robes up and opened the umbrella. With a twirl, he descended into the light drizzle and left the lotus garden, rendering it silent once more. The flowers returned to their graceful ballad, and the frogs began to croak again. The cicadas sang a forte chorus, and the Majesty was a bit overwhelmed from his sudden attention to his surroundings again. Using a technique he had learned from an old tai-chi master, he regained a peace inside that softened the patter or rain and the long croaks of the toads. His eyes closed shut and he dozed lightly. The rain continued to lightly fall...

He continued to sleep until a light bell chime made him twitch. The sun had already come out from it's protection behind the clouds. He tsked angrily.

"Who dares wake me up during my nap?" He thundered, exercising his authoritarian voice, flexing his power that had been subdued earlier by that Yogi guy.

"I-I'm sorry your majesty. I am your humble servant. Spare me please." The maid shook with terror. It only made him more perturbed. He tsked again.

"Get up already. What do you want?"

"The E-Emperor says that your presence is requested at the royal court for tea. Your outfit and midday snack has been prepared." He rose and swept his heavy robes towards his study. It was one of the many rooms and buildings that he had given to him. The maids held open the ornately carved doors as he entered his opulent but sparsely furnished quarters. A large oak table for writing was against the wall, with papers that he was too frustrated to look strewn over the glossy wood. There were claims that he needed to address, complaints that needed appeasing. Blue satin covered the cushions, bed dressings, and sheets. Silk thread weaved flowers and mystical creatures onto every available surface. Freshly cut blossoms were placed in artful corners, a dust of the room dampening the sweet smell. He quickly told a servant to take the flowers away and open all the possible windows. He felt suffocated even though he had sat outside for so long. He sat at his table and stared at the plate of durian pastries. He sat there for a long time, not doing anything. He reevaluated his happiness in comparison to his wealth. He enjoyed the privileges and the delicacies that only royalty could enjoy. But he felt hollow inside- he didn't do anything to get these things. His only connection to everything around him was his heritage. He wasn't on the fields fighting for the King, he didn't sell clay wares like the merchants, and he definitely wasn't weighing grams of rice like a farmer. He knew that his responsibility would increase dramatically after he became king, but he wanted to be responsible for something now. To truly own something with his own hands.

The maids kneeled before him until he impatiently waved for them to get up. They had a heavy black and gold embroidered outfit worn on formal occasions. He had many, but he was fond of this one for it's dramatic appeal. If he was correct, then he would be meeting with Mr. Yogi, the outsider, and he wanted to look his most regal. Appropriately for the occasion as well, of course. It would stun him for sure. He let them dress him, fit his arms through the large sleeves and attached a golden headpiece for hair. The slight application of gardenia essence for formality completed his preparations. An ink dragon was delicately painted below his left eye. Picking out a paper fan painted with water and mountains, he ascended the gold-colored sedan with an orange overhead canopy, was lifted by eight servants, followed by two maids, and headed to the royal court.

The arrival of the Dragon's son was announced as he alighted from his sedan. He nodded generously to the many noblemen and ministers who were present, but did not smile. He walked the stiff procession and entered the court, now transformed into a formal gathering for tea. The Emperor was at an elevated desk with two guests. The prince kneeled to his father, a tall man who wore gold robes with threaded twin dragons, and a strict face wherever he went. A delicately graying beard indicated his wisdom and knowledge. He waved for him to stand. The taller man across from the Emperor at the table was a gentleman who looked uncomfortable in the oriental clothing. He had black hair and a strong body build, different from the royal family's lean build, but of the same origin. The man next to him was of mixed origin, but looked similar. He had gold-wheat hair and amethyst-colored eyes. An exotic combination.

They kneeled, and he quickly waved for them to get up.

"We are all friends here," he said.

"I am pleased to make the acquaintance with the Dragon's son. I am the neighboring Minister of Finances and this is the representative nobleman, Yogi. We are forever your loyal servants, your Majesty." They bowed deeply. The one that Gareki was familiar with was more hesitant to bow. Gareki gave a courteous smile.

"I am honored to be in the presence of such revered guests. I'm hoping that you will lend me your insight during your stay."

"Of course, of course," The older man appeased, graciously accepting the Emperor's motion of sitting with nods.

Gareki pushed back his heavy robes to sit down. He finally looked up to gaze at the blonde man. He had a look of shock that was barely hidden through placidity. Gareki felt the twitch of a smile at his lips, but he transformed it into the friendly calm smile used in public. He referred to the sweet rice with mango slivers and said,

"Minister, Honorable noble, do try this delicacy. It was imported from the southern legions." The blonde man snapped out of his trance. He frowned and his face was a bit stressed.

"O-Of course." The blonde man replied, even though he was of less importance than the Minister. Gareki didn't point out the gaffe and allowed the maid to serve the dessert he had pointed out. Gareki carefully sipped the Oolong tea and covered his mouth with a silk handkerchief. The leaves were perfectly tempered and the fragrance was very fine.

He looked up to see the outsider stare at his plate with an intimidated and ashamed face. It served him right for not knowing who the people around him were. Gareki felt a flush of a surprising feeling he couldn't put his finger on. The poor soul didn't know anything about the rules in the palace. Of course he was a sad mistaken fool.

"The garb compliments you, Minister, Honorable noble," Gareki added, giving them a small smile. He kept it up while the Minister returned one over the fake compliment. The Minister made sure not to look him in the eye, lest he wanted to get his head chopped off.

"Oh, thank you your Majesty... I'm pleased that you approve," The chief said.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Yogi replied, bowing his head down.

"Now, let us talk of formal matters," The strong voice of the Emperor declared. He stroked his long beard. "The silk tapestry for the moon festival is a costly affair. I assume that preparations for the material are complete."

"To answer your Majesty, Yes, I've seen to them carefully. The designs of which are to be sewn... Well for this immense project, I was wondering what your Highnesses might want as a subject."

"Yes... For something like the moon festival... Well, what do you think, son?" Gareki racked his brains; he needed to think of something good.

"Perhaps something... Mystical? Mythology, with a twist of royal blood mixed in?" He said.

The Emperor slapped the table. The guests jumped a foot into the air. The servants quickly kneeled, hoping they hadn't angered the old man.

"Great idea. What do you think, Noble?"

"To respond to you Majesty, I think it's magnificent. The Nobles will be pleased." Yogi replied.

"Perfect. Do that then. You will need to stay in the Kingdom to use the record history books. As I said before, your presence is welcome and for as long as is needed." The hidden message was that they were needed for diplomacy as well. "Your sewing mistresses will see to the completion of it. Our historian will relay any necessary requirements on the affair and formalities concerning the books, with the upgraded ranking of Master's secretary, temporarily." A servant heard the request and scurried off to inform the historian of his new privileges. The minister and Yogi both stood and bowed.

"Then, if that is arranged, then Gareki, they could use your skills in the interpretation of ancient language. Help them later after tea."

The formal afternoon ordeal continued for a while for, but soon after the master of dyes and silks kneeled on one foot to beg for pardon and requested for the Minister's help with the colors and threads.

"You may go. Gareki, you may accompany them as well." The three kneeled.

"Thank you your Majesty. I will go after some preparation." He said, his regal wear in need of something more casual, as well as some references that he could use.

"Of course, my son. Work hard." The long-bearded man gave him a hard, cold smile. They backed away and then left while Gareki was followed by his servants. A possy of women were waiting outside, the ones who were going to do the silk embroidery on the tapestry.

"Minister. Advocate Noble. I will accompany you soon to the Eastern flower pavilion. First I must pick up some necessary tools." He flashed Yogi a small smile and bowed curtly before getting on his sedan. His men picked up the sedan and marched back to his quarters while the two guests and the team of seamstresses waited for his Majesty to leave out of sight. They then got up onto their own sedans, which were less extravagant but still honorary for guests, and a servant who was instructed to lead the way for them appeared.

"You must be thinking that you didn't get to contribute much just now, Yogi." The dark-haired man said, an amused face making him seem younger.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare." Yogi was actually still welling in his shame over not recognizing a prince when one was right in front of him. He was lucky that he was still alive! His punishment was blatant shame, obviously. The shame of having to realize the difference in class and the importance of his standing while before a formal audience. He had kept his composure, or so he hoped. Some sly smirks from the prince told him otherwise. Thankfully the prince had a sense of humor, but he wasn't cruel. He could have been sentenced to death. But the rambling of the chief brought him back to reality.

"It's alright. I brought you mainly because you're such a phenomenal writer. A good writer can weave what's real and what's not real together. We'll turn your story into pictures, and we'll transfer those onto silk. I hope that you'll help in doing so, Yogi." He had a knowing smile on his lips.

"Of course, Minister. I'll work hard." He said, glad that he had brought his own brush with him on this trip. A mystical story with folklore, was it? He could do that. They walked for a good twenty minutes before arriving at the East flower pavilion. It was a beautiful garden with chrysanthemums and gardenias, camellias and irises. Flowers from different seasons were magically blooming all at the same time. A small pool with Koi were lounging at the bottom of the craggy rocks. The outsiders walked into the wood-musk room. The tables were set up, with chairs and special racks for embroidery already prepared.

"To your seats according to skill, from simple stitch to compound, right this moment." The minister announced, pointing for the women to seat themselves. He called for one to ask for candles, one to call for the dye master to bring in the thread choices since they were prepared, and one to call for the silk.

Yogi sat down at one of the tables while a paper was set down in front of him. He used the stone ink well to mix the black for his writing. He retrieved his own pen, which had an oak handle and cow hair bristles. He tapped his fingers on the table for a while and tsked to himself for an hour over how to begin. Finally, he dabbed the brush in the ink and wrote in beautiful penmanship,

"And so a forbidden story began, a story of two lovers that were separated by an ocean of stars..."

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**A/N:** Hi everyone, if you like this, favorite or follow. Send me a message. Show some love! It's been forever since I published anything. I have some more parts already done, they're just not proofread yet. Everytime I publish it's always at a bad time... this time it's Labor Day. It's the only time I'm at home and not too busy with work. I've got a ton of homework. Next time, maybe Thanksgiving... showing support will improve my work habits. Thanks for reading!


	2. Pomegranate Seeds

Title: Pomegranate Seeds

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval.

Warning: Not for the faint of heart, or the young. This is similar to a historical crack fic with good grammar... so, sorry!

A/N: So here is another Karneval chapter! Again, tell me how you feel about my writing! The more response, the better. Also as before, respect my work please!

Gareki felt unfulfilled. He should have felt jovial. The humiliation of a lowly nobleman should have made him feel exuberant, but he felt like the amusement was already over. The feeling in his chest- the Dragon's son could not feel shame, could he? At the very least, he shouldn't be allowed to feel regret. No, he wasn't full of a bad emotion. He was lacking something good. He wanted- no, he needed, someone. Someone while he was playing the stringed boards, while practicing swordsmanship. Someone to sit by him while he studied Confucian principles. Someone to eat dinner with or to talk to during the afternoon teas. Did he just push that someone away? A suitable friend? But the girls weren't for him. They whined and tried to be lapdogs, using baby-ish voices and seductive touches. They just wanted power. Maybe the outsider could accomplish what the others couldn't do. A partnership. Easily done, with his name, and a great step for diplomacy, if his father wanted peace. "The Advocate Noble has become great friends with the Dragon's Prince," they would say. But he didn't want to force him. He wanted to be friends with this noble, without ever using his authority. Was it even possible to do that?

"Would the Honorable prince like to change now?" The meek voice of a maid said.

"Tch." His train of thought was quickly broken. He angrily tossed his black robe at the stricken girl.

"Make sure that fabric is not damaged when it gets back." He growled, throwing on the dark blue robe and tying it with red silk at the waist. He dressed himself so sloppily that it could have been mistaken as seductive. He paid no attention to his attire when there wasn't a ceremony or procession going on because he had the formal vibe with him at all times anyway. After securing his gate passes and proper ornaments, he stepped out into the bright sun and onto his sedan.

"To the East flower pavilion." He commanded his men, and they walked briskly towards one of the many tiled buildings.

On arrival, Gareki saw the procession of the large roll of silk. It was like a large rug, except made of the finest fabric and dyed with the most careful hand. He alighted from his sedan and walked closer, noticing that the historian was towing books with the help of a buff muscular man. The historian ordered the guy around with his new power, since he had an improved ranking. After seeing the Prince arrive he quickly dropped the act and scurried over. The muscle and the people in the procession kneeled and made way for him.

"Long live the Majesty, thousands of years be blessed." He gave them the public smile that was reserved for the citizens. His was a small curve of the lip that was barely noticeable. He waved for him to rise and to return to their work. It was so bothersome for people to suddenly stop what they were doing to bow down to him, but he couldn't do anything about tradition. As they rose he walked up to the historian.

"Have you brought the necessary books and materials?" Gareki demanded.

"Y-yes. Everything that could possibly be needed was brought."

"Good. Keep them outside for a moment and categorize them. I will talk with the Honorable Noble and Minister."

He stepped into the musky, dark room. The windows were open and light streamed in. Candles were placed but not yet lit. The Minister, Yogi, and the girls kneeled.

"Respect to the Majesty," they chanted.

"Enough," he waved, a bit impatient. They returned to their original seats.

"I see that you plan to work into the night, Minister. Hardworking indeed. But don't overwork the ladies, they are but delicate creatures." He gave the girls a reassuring nod. They giggled and shot each other looks. Gareki was a ladykiller. Yogi still looked uncomfortable. His robe was a bit side-swept, and he wouldn't make eye contact. His strangely enchanting hair covered his pale cheeks. Although he wasn't as pale as Gareki was, he was still beautiful. Gareki had an almost translucent skin, his midnight black hair an alarming contrast. Yogi had startling eyes though, and they transfixed Gareki.

He hardly heard the Minister reply with eager 'thanks' and 'of courses.'

"I came to talk about the books and the process of writing. Is it correct that Yogi will be planning the stories?"

"How did you know, your Majesty?" He seemed a bit surprised.

"Ah, well he seems like a well-educated and literate man. I couldn't ask the Minister of Finance to do something such as to write a fictional story. The ability to keep up with assets and stock is amazing already." He gazed pointedly to the neatly organized thread rack and the fabric which was being unrolled. It wound around and weaved through the seamstress, a sea of red mixed with blue and orange. A large sunset was shimmering blindingly in the sewing room. He praised the beauty of it with a murmur. The Minister hummed in satisfaction over the prince's appreciation. The girls chatted and their fluttering gazes flashed in Gareki's peripheral vision.

"Since my presence is too distracting, I think it is wise to move the writing into my personal study." He wanted to be in his gardens again. He also wanted to personally talk to the Outsider, but not with the restrictions the royalty were usually restrained by. "I do not wish to restrict the girls from talking or singing while I am here. Of course, if the Honorable Noble wouldn't mind joining me. I will need his help."

"Ah... then what would you like for me to do, your Majesty?" The Minister asked, his hand outstretched to point to the silken background already prepared.

"Create the background first with flowers and gardens. Perhaps skies as well, with stars. The story can be flexible, I'm sure. Do you know the story of the two starry night lovers? Have that planned out. I'll leave it to you. I will send the plot to you -and if there are any questions, I'm sure Yogi can handle it. Noble, accompany me." He exited with a confused Yogi, the Minister kneeling as he left.

The Historian that was waiting outside was wiping sweat off his brow as the glaring sun beat him with heat. He quickly kneeled with the presence of the prince.

"Bring half of the books to my study. Leave half for the Minister."

"But how will I take care of-"

"I grew up with these volumes, book-keeper. I will assure their safety. You can look over the Minister's books, if it pleases you."

"Of course your Majesty. Forgive me your Majesty." The historian kneeled until he impatiently waved for him to get out of his way. He got onto his sedan and was followed by the silent noble who had tried to decipher the Prince's motives. Was he going to be humiliated again? Was he going to be treated as a servant for payment?

On arrival to the white screen doors and the circular entrance, he felt a flush of shame from his last time here. They rounded the bubbling pond with full flowers and entered the carved doors. The Prince's study was laid out in a usage-only fashion, where utility and feng-shui overruled comfort. The books came in after them and were set on the bookshelf by the large wooden table that was covered with extensive papers of political drafts and business affairs. Yogi could attest to their urgency by the red stamps that fluttered on every possible blank space. A tiger-skin sofa imported from Africa was part of the centerpiece. As Yogi walked in with proximity to the Prince, the most dominating part of the room was the scent of flowers. Yogi didn't know if it came from his person or from the many vases scattered around the room, but it was very noticeable. New flowers had been replaced with newer flowers. Orchids and exotic lilies and roses were over the room. He wondered who had picked them, and if Gareki had chosen them himself.

"Send out all of my maids. I do not wish to be interrupted until dinner, which Yogi will accompany me in." The prince gave Yogi one of his smiles for the public. The maid that had been waiting left quickly.

"Let's get to work." He walked over to the books and moved some to the round table further in the room. It stretched farther than Yogi thought. A bed covered with satin curtains was laid in the very back. He wondered how many women Gareki had brought to that bed.

"Oh, let me help you, your Majesty." Yogi went to gather books for the Majesty, so that he wouldn't think he was impotent.

"I have all the ones I need, thank you." He returned quickly, taking out some papers and his own brush, which was ebony wood with a strong, dark lamb hair. He appraised it. Of course the Prince, ever so scholarly, would have the best brush possible.

Gareki noticed his amazement. This man didn't hide his feelings well at all. His naivety was a fresh feeling. He was younger than this Outsider, but he felt like this man was pure... Or did this Outsider usually feign naivety until under critical pressure?

"Can I switch with you? I have had these aches with this brush, but it's the only one in the study." Gareki complained, reaching for the Noble's brush.

"Oh, I can't possibly..." He started, holding up his hands to defend himself, like he might be forced to take it. The dark-haired royalty arched an eyebrow. Yogi submitted and gave him his oak brush. The ebony lacquered brush was heavy in his hands. It was gorgeous.

"A nice grip. Well used. You must be a real scholar, Yogi." He restrained the title. He wanted to see his expression. Just to test him a little bit more. Bring him closer.

"Thank you your majesty. But please don't use my old brush, it's not suited for your Majesty..."

"Call me Gareki. No work will get done with 'your Majesty' and 'your Highnesses' in my study." He ignored his comment about the brush. Gareki definitely felt something from the remark. He regretted letting Yogi feel insignificant while he was there. Now Yogi would call him Majesty this, Majesty that, and he would never be able to close their distance.

"Yes your Majest- Gareki." Yogi replied, his face tinted with a magnificent blush that barely tingled his ivory skin. The prince's earnest smile was covered up by his sleeve. He pretended to sweep his hair.

"Do you know any folk-lore, Yogi?"

"I mostly know western folk-lore." He awkwardly left off "Your Highness."

"Tell them to me."

"There is one that explains the seasons," he paused. The prince nodded for him to continue. "Persephone, the daughter of the Goddess of Harvest, Demeter, was in a field of flowers when Hades fell in love with her and brought her to the underworld, to make him her wife."

"So a rape," Gareki stated, his head leaning in a very casual manner. He twirled the brush in his hand.

"Ah, well, somewhat. Demeter becomes sad, and thus does not do her job with life, rendering everything dead and desolate. Zeus, the head god, and god of thunder, sees that the humans were suffering and tries to bargain Persephone to be returned. Unfortunately, she had eaten some pomegranate seeds, and according to Greek myth, eating the food from the underworld makes you unable to leave. And since she ate three pomegranate seeds, she was forced to stay in Hades for three months a year, while the rest of the year she could be with her mother Demeter."

"I see. So she was bound to Hell because she had a little taste?"

"Yes."

"In some places, there are ten months of winter. Perhaps her little taste of the pomegranate was more than they said." Gareki dipped Yogi's brush into the inkwell. It was a smooth feeling.

"Perhaps." Yogi answered, feeling the comment wasn't only referring to winter's peril. There was a long silence where only the occasional rustle of paper and the cicada's outside filled the space. The aroma of blossoms made the room and Gareki seem like he belonged in another world, like the smoky quarters of the heavens. His dark hair was sort of long, brushing the nape of his neck. A beautiful, elegant, future king that would gain the respect of many. The prince must have felt his gaze.

"Is something wrong, Yogi?" He didn't look up, but his voice was warm. He felt a turn in his stomach. Surely the prince couldn't let down his guard to where his voice turned to silk and lilted like a courtesan. What was he thinking?

"O-oh, nothing, nothing is wrong."

"Maybe you're getting hungry. I should feed you," He called his servant in. "Is the food ready?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Yogi noted that the servant still said 'Your Majesty.' Maybe it was custom. A few minutes later, two servants came back with huge trays of food. One had dishes of every kind, with stir-fry beets and russet potatoes to grilled salmon with lemons. The western dishes must have been for him. The other had hot green tea, in a porcelain set.

"The Minister is dining with the Emperor today?" The Prince asked, the brush still sweeping the remaining characters from Yogi's story.

"To return your Majesty's question, yes, he'll be dining with the Highness today, and for the rest of his stay he'll be accompanied by one of the ladies." Yogi informed him.

"I see, so he'll be eating with the unpaid prostitutes," Gareki said, as the servant poured them both tea. She stepped back into the corner of the room but he shooed her away.

"Privacy." The girl left. Yogi felt a bit nervous. Why did he send them away? Would they listen? Was he going to be interrogated and tortured for national secrets? The hot tea still made him shudder a chill. But having some privacy with this... almost demi-god wasn't so bad. He wanted to know him. Earnestly wanted to be trusted and to work under him.

"So Yogi, tell me about yourself." Gareki sipped his tea. Gareki rarely ate with anyone, and he almost didn't know how to act. He wasn't sure how to be casual, if he still needed to retain a formal regard if there was no one around. Did he need to be formal with someone that he would eventually be familiar with?

"Oh, I, um, I am 27. I am an orphan, but I was adopted by an Earl. I received a title because of my foster father. I like to write, and I do a bit of fencing. I'm not too interesting, your Majesty." Gareki frowned. Yogi was trying to reestablish boundaries.

"Again with the ending? I am Gareki. My first name is not 'Your', and my last name is not 'Majesty.' You're making getting to know you extremely hard." Yogi's eyebrows shot up. He wanted to be friends? Him, a lowly orphan, friends with the Prince of 35 legions? He opened his mouth a couple times without sound.

"Oh." he finally said. He ate quietly.

"Shall I tell you about me then?" he didn't wait for a response. "I'm younger than you." He waited and ate a piece of fish. "I'm silent at times." He paused again. He wasn't really sure what he was like.

"I do archery. I understand the ancient language. My mother is dead. And I lack a lotus without bitter hearts." This time both were silent. They chewed silently while Yogi digested the last part of the sentence. What did he want to imply...? Gareki didn't know what else to talk about. A woman knocked on the door, and Gareki allowed her to enter.

"Entertainment for Your Majesty," The lady said. She had a strange haircut- it was short, with a small braid that was kept long. She was slim and was carrying a dark wood Gu Qin, a string instrument that was plucked but laid down on a table. Gareki permitted her to set up, and soon she was playing piece after piece, as Gareki finished his meal and continued to brush down the story. Yogi watched Gareki and wondered what he could have possibly been thinking. Gareki didn't even give the girl a second glance when she came in, yet the prince sent him long glances while he thought that Yogi wasn't watching. Of course Yogi was watching, but he pretended that he was consumed with the art hanging from his walls. Yogi did his fair share of staring.

"Well, if you're done with your food, then you can help send this over to the Minister. Tell him to not overwork it. I'll see you soon, Yogi." Yogi remembered bowing while Gareki was staring at him, and in a daze, settled into the sedan that would carry him to the East Flower Pavilion. The last glimpse of Gareki that he saw was him leaning on the wooden rails around the lotus pond, his dark eyes piercing, a smirk on his face.

Yogi now thought over the analogy. He felt lighter after leaving the redolent room, his thoughts no longer constrained. Did Gareki mean that he was the core without the bitterness? The reward without the frustration? He felt a bit belittled. Gareki had swept him so quickly into the palm of his hand. Was he so simply captivated? Although he enjoyed his regal manner and his accidentally seductive tones, he wasn't obligated. Well, technically he was. If he still wanted to live, that is. But that was exactly why he didn't want to be bound by his rules. He didn't want to be an exotic bird put on display in this cage disguised as a kingdom.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Again, review please! Review and comment and send me private messages! Love you all.


	3. A Traitor Amongst the Doves

Title: A Traitor Amongst The Doves

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval.

Warning: Not for the faint of heart, or the young. If you're looking for smut, sorry. Maybe next chapter.

A/N: So it's been a while since I've put a part up. I actually have a lot of chapters already written, but I didn't like how this one was going, so I rewrote the whole chapter. I've been really busy too, so, sorry. I appreciate the support though! Thank you for all the favorites, reviews, and follows. They really do help. Also: Gareki is really out of character. Sorry...

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He stepped down into the pavilion. The flowers were glowing faintly in the moonlight. Many red wax candles were flickering in lamps. The girls were slowly working through the immense tapestry, the silk vibrant even in moonshine and candlelight. The minister was pouring through an immense string-bound book, with many candles surrounding him as he took earnest notes. The book-keeper was nowhere to be found. The minister looked up with a smile.

"Done already, Yogi?"

"Yes, he said I looked tired so he let me retire first. I mean the Majesty! He let me-the majesty let me go early."

"Why so informal...? Do you wish to disrespect someone...?"

"No, no! The Majesty thought that it would be helpful to be acquaintances." Yogi blushed and hoped it wasn't given away by the candles. When he said it out loud, it sounded impossible. Such an unlikely combination, a partnership of any kind between a Noble who simply inherited a title and the son of the King... he inherited much more than a name.

The minister was a bit taken by surprise, but he gave a look of disgruntled approval.

"Well that's great! Hopefully we have no need for a peace ambassador then." Yogi wondered what a peace ambassador could possibly do in a time of splendor and harvest. He suddenly remembered why he had come here, other than for respects.

"Oh, here is the story layout of the Greek story for seasons, and here is the Majesty's research on heroic feats by the royalty. I've already written a fourth of it."

"Great. I'll combine them with emphasis on the royalty, or in this case, the rescuer of Persephone who will suspiciously resemble the Fifth Emperor of the ancient world. The tapestry will be a success." The minister winked but knocked thrice on the wooden table to prevent jinxing it. He heaved a sigh and started reading the papers.

"The Majesty also reminded me to tell the honorable minister to rest until tomorrow."

"If the Majesty wishes it, then I will gladly rest." He abruptly put the papers down, stood, and stretched.

"All right girls, finish your last stitches and get ready to sleep. Be neat about where you hold your spot!" The seamstresses started chattering and yawning, tired over the long day. The silk tapestry on each board was loosened and then smoothed out so it would not wrinkle. The girls filed out as the Minister strode to each candle and blew them out, then cutting the string and proceeding for each one. Yogi and a following servant helped him, and the doors were then shut and locked. The minister pocketed the key.

"So our quarters are close, I assume?" The minister asked the servant.

"Yes, but the honorable Noble will be farther away. The honorable party will not be roomin' together." The servant replied. They stepped onto their sedans and headed in different directions. The minister cheerfully waved good-bye and hummed when the servant said something along the lines of 'near the new courtesans.'

In the dark, the path was harder to decipher, and he felt like he had walked in a maze. They arrived at the circular entrance and the glowing paper doors, and he realized that they had returned to the Prince's study.

"Um, are you sure this is the right place?" He said. He stepped down but didn't walk forward. The servants nodded and said it was across from the guest quarters, and the Prince ordered for the honorable Noble to be as close as possible for convenient inquiry over the subject of the tapestry. Yogi stepped into the familiar lotus garden as the men left with the sedan. At night the place had transformed. It looked like the veranda of a warm festival. Candles were sitting atop floating pads, the large flowers faint but still beautiful, glowing under the strong cascade of the crescent moon. The lanterns that were dim during the day were aflare, making the wooden floorboards a blazing red. He walked towards the open doors, where a faint perfume lingered again. The lights were almost as dim as outside, making everything glow powdery and soft. He had just approached the door when the prince walked out with a brief look of surprise.

"Oh, Yogi. Your room is right over there." He pointed to the closed doors across the small pond. The lights were dim inside, but no lanterns lit.

"Sorry if it seems so cold-hearted for a guest to sleep in a usually unoccupied room. No one has roomed across from me for ages. Too much pressure." His voice was a bit bitter. He leaned against the door post in a red satin sleeping gown. He was holding a small dish of wine.

"Oh no, sorry for intruding!" He quickly lowered to his knees but the prince stopped him with his hand.

Gareki motioned for him to join as he promptly gave him his dish and entered his room. He barely poured himself another to drink before sinking into his tiger-skinned sofa. Was he a bit tipsy already? The prince wobbled with an unsteady, yet regal composure. Yogi didn't dare to reject him.

Yogi pulled up the leather chair. He sat at a safe two meter distance away. Gareki shot daggers at the chair, as if it was repulsive. Then he sighed.

"If you keep calling me 'Your Majesty', I'll have one of your toes chopped off." Yogi blinked in surprise. Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

"Ah... Sorry... Gareki." The dark haired man sighed a bit.

"Sorry. I don't know how to talk... You give me a good feeling, no, it's easier to talk to you, when you aren't being a pain. I don't need to pose and act fulfilled. My act, even like this, is okay in front of you." He growled, emptying the dish and refilling it. He was sitting slightly sideways, a leg thrown over the arm of the sofa, his clothes disheveled. Yogi didn't really understand what he said.

"Um, you want to be... associates?"

Gareki leaned forward, two inches from his face, and stared. He sat back and nodded, but then thought otherwise and angrily shook his head. He pointed to the seat beside him on the sofa. Yogi sat beside him and faced him, a bit wary. If he didn't want to be comrades...? A business partner? His coworker? His servant or something? Was this another one of his jokes?

Gareki stuck his hand out. What did he have that Gareki might want? Then he remembered that afternoon. He took his brush. He felt the blood leave his face as he frantically searched his robe.

"Sorry, so sorry! Sorry! I completely forgot-" He offered the utensil back, bur the prince denied it. The insistent prince stuffed the ebony brush back into his robe. Yogi was going to put it on his desk when the prince put a wine dish to his mouth and tipped it, the wine spilling.

"Cheers." Yogi obliged and drank it. Gareki did the same and poured for both of them. He put the dish to his mouth again.

"Cheers." They drank. He was not celebratory at all, rather, it was a forced sort of word, as if he really did want for a celebration. He refilled their dishes once more, but he didn't force him to drink.

"Let me see your watch." Gareki said, as he stuck out his hand, again, unrelenting. His stormy dark eyes made Yogi blink as he took it out. He hesitantly put it in his hand. Gareki held it close and peered at the metal work. It ticked dully; the prince could hear the inner whirr. The soft gold color was warm and elegant; Yogi's initials were engraved in cursive on the side in his language.

"Where did you receive this watch?"

"I was given this by my benefactor. He is very kind."

"I see."

He was silent. Gareki stood up suddenly and stumbled into the other room, leaning against the poles for support. He was already very inebriated. Yogi waited as the figure moved behind the shades. Yogi noticed the dark shadows flickering around the room.

The prince came back with a long thin sword, with a lacquered sheath with red twine. The grip was a beautiful leather, and Gareki offered it with open hands to Yogi, almost kneeling. Yogi didn't think as he reached out to take it.

"You can have it, on one condition."

Yogi caught himself. He stopped and made a strangled sound.

"Oh, I don't dare! I'm sorry, your majesty, I was merely entranced by its beauty."

Gareki threw it to him. Yogi's reflexes made him catch it. He offered it back.

"If your benefactor can give you gifts, then I may as well."

"Now my condition is that you stay and drink here until I start spilling secrets. You stay until I throw myself onto you and beg for your company. Until I can't hold myself upright anymore. And then you can go. I'm tired Yogi, of lying people. I'm sorry for being irresponsibly immature at our first meeting." Gareki fell silent. It was the first time he was so talkative, and it wasn't at all like how he usually was, stoic, cold, statuesque.

Yogi was confused; he didn't know how to respond. He could only think about the sword and the brush. He would give the sword back eventually, if he insisted now... Then again he failed to return the brush. How would he give back a sword? Yogi looked down at the dark, menacing weapon. It was alluring, and he unsheathed it, just a little bit. It had a bold metal. It was very thin, but very sharp. He stood and bowed to the prince.

"Thank you for letting me borrow this... Gareki. I will try to do what you have asked of me."

The prince sighed. It was a start. He went over to the table and tinkered with an inkwell.

"Yogi. Tell me what you think of all this. How does life in the palace suit you?" Gareki asked, his test question for Yogi.

"It's riveting. I'm not used to it yet, because everything is new."

"Good. Now tell me how you really feel."

"Your Majesty...?"

"Every single one of you say the exact same thing," he pointed angrily to the door. "Do you know how many have passed through our kingdom and have said the same as you have just now? A lifetime of wasted words that don't mean a thing. Now tell me what you think is wrong. What in this place is disgusting to you?" Gareki muttered, his voice muted. Yogi knew what he was asking. He wanted for Yogi to name the corrupt, the evil, that lurked. He wanted his opinion of the Emperor, of his men, of the manner of the servants. He couldn't possibly tell him what he really thought of it all...The untrustworthy spies that Gareki wanted to hear about were all around, ears cocked, intent on finding leaked information, poorly phrased complaints, anything worth reporting about. He shot the prince a smile. He wanted to seem clueless- but Gareki was sharp. He could usually feel slight shifts in moods, in auras... but perhaps it was because he was so intoxicated this time that he didn't fully notice that-

The sudden cacophony of shredding paper ripped through the air. Black figures darted into the room, throwing back the wooden doors with blasts, the screens clocking out of sockets, scattering across the room and slitting Yogi's face, a second to cover too late. His reflexes caught up to his surprise as he unsheathed the sword beside him. The black-hooded people hovered before running towards the prince, blades in hand. There was four, no five of them encircling them. Gareki had fallen silent on the ground, unmoving, a large piece of wood was strewn over his chest; it had knocked him unconscious. Yogi unsheathed the sword. How had Gareki been so uncannily accurate? His sixth sense was very sharp. Adrenaline coursed through his body, as it usually did whenever he held a sword.

The hooded man swung quickly, the rest in tow towards the prince. Yogi caught his blade with a clang. He slit the attacker's chest and kicked him into the guy behind him. They fell out with a trip at the door, and splashed into the pond. A masked man gunned for Yogi's throat but Yogi was trying to create distance between a different swordsman and the prince. The terrorist parried his swipes and pushed in hard, his strength more than Yogi's. He didn't see the other man approach.

The man pierced through Yogi's left shoulder. He was roughly shoved back, the force stunning Yogi for a breath. Two breaths. The blade went clean through and then was sickeningly pulled out. Yogi drew a haggard breath but he proceeded to return the favor with his sword by jabbing it into the attacking man's liver. The shock had not yet registered. He barely noticed that his left arm wouldn't respond when he was countering the now surprised man. He was beginning to lose steam, the blood staining his robe in a ghastly way, with his arm dangling down. His vision started to cloud but he fought the urge to fall. He was losing blood, fast. A pounding feeling began to take up his senses as shouts and yells were heard storming up the board and into the room. Dark figures with too-bright torches entered, trampling over the fallen attackers. The war cries were deafening, but Yogi didn't know if it was the enemy or the palace's guards. The remaining two attackers turned to direct their attention to the reinforcements. They shouted indiscernible words.

"...The Prince! His Majesty!

Your Honor...

Kill... quick... infidels!

Don't... -scape!"

They moved forward in slow motion as they finished off the last attacker, pummeling him to the ground but calling for them to preserve his life to find out who was behind the attack. They rushed towards the prince and removed the wooden plank. No one paid attention to the nobleman as they called out to the heir to the throne, pulling at his limp body. Yogi barely clutched his shoulder and staggered towards the prince before his vision failed him at last. The prince was beginning to be picked up and onto a fabric makeshift stretcher when Yogi sunk to his knees, a pained face hidden by relief over the waking of the prince. A servant finally noticed the man with the blood soaked half-corpse, his skin pale as a sufferer of tuberculosis, his body barely keeping a wall of black from overtaking him. Sweat spilled from the very effort of holding the gift that Gareki had conveniently given him. The servant rushed to him and Yogi saw a slow "Are you okay?" mouthed to him. All he heard was a rushing sound of blood in the shell of his ears. He gave him a short smile. He kept his façade until the very end.

He then proceeded to crumple onto the ground as the sword struck the wooden floorboards beside of him.

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A/N: So "Love you all" is a crazy thing to put as a side note. I take it back and instead I mutually respect you all! Just realized that this chapter is a little shorter than the other ones. I sort of lost the flow. The next chapter should hopefully be better. Thanks for reading! R&R.


	4. Mysterious Flowers

Title: A Traitor Amongst The Doves

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval. In no way am I affiliated with Karneval or the author, Mikanagi Touya.

Warning: Themes of murder and other mature themes later on.

A/N: First, a thanks to everyone who has supported me so far. I really appreciate your kind appraisals of my writing. Please enjoy!

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A horrid heat stifled his shallow breathing. He first felt the heat. It bashed into his lungs like a merciless and blind executioner; it bludgeoned him with a dull axe. Groggily, he eventually came to. A pleasant breeze washed over him, and his will to wake up lapsed. He felt so comfortable on the too-hard board of a bed. The numbness tingled his fingers and his toes. His face had a heavy feeling to it, as if his body was magnetized to the bed, restricting his movements.  
The slow movement of time was like a buffering zone. He wafted through with no sense of knowing or judgement. His mind wandered everywhere yet nowhere at all. He reached the brink of lucidity a couple of times, but each time his mind fell into the abyss of chaos and disorder. At moments, a voice called to him, but he lurched away from it; he wanted to dream meaningless things for a while longer. He grasped at strings just out of reach. Who mattered? What was he worried about exactly? Why did he care?  
But a question made his eyelids flutter. How did he get there? A drowsy and wooden feeling took over him, and it suddenly made him very conscious of his surroundings and very uncomfortable. His chest was much too tight, the pressure enough to rouse him permanently from his passing dreams. The sweat began to make his clothes stick, the bedding too heavy for the climate. The sunlight began to pierce through his eyelids with a bright yellow light. Both of his arms were leaden and numb.

"Yogi..." The voice of the reason? A faraway voice called to him; he didn't recognize it at all. It spoke again: "Have you woken?"

The voice paused. No, don't leave. He threw a random guess at the voice, one which would have made the most sense to him. What happened before? Was it the day after? Gareki. Gareki was attacked. My arm- Yogi felt a sudden jolt of pain that made him crack open his eyelids.  
His jaw felt locked as he snapped his mouth apart. His lips were clamped like an ancient chest rusted shut. His chest rumbled from the effort it took to summon breath. His skin felt foreign from the strange movements of the syllables.

"Ga... Reki...?" His voice was hoarse and it crackled. He tried to wet his lips but his tongue was dry as a desert. His mouth tasted like the air in a corpse's coffin. The light burned his eyes. It was noon, and a bright light showed through the patterned wooden engravings.

"I'm the Minister, Yogi. The Honorable Prince is fine. He has already recovered and has been tested thoroughly. He didn't sustain any serious injuries." He helped Yogi to a sip of water by firmly supporting his head. Yogi tried to hold himself up, but the pain before hit him now with a searing pain that had previously been lying mostly dormant. It unleashed itself now, like the flow of dammed up waters after years of retention. Yogi panted as he tried to hold back the cries under the blistering fire. He felt like someone had picked open his left shoulder area with a fork and had packed his arm with shards of glass. The minister futilely pushed him back onto the bed- Yogi wasn't even going to attempt to sit up again. He shuddered in silence.

"Yogi! You musn't move from this bed. You'll tear your wound again. When I heard that you had almost died from blood loss, I nearly fainted." His face was indeed pale, his forehead was etched with wrinkled anxiety. Yogi barely croaked out an apology when the minister shook his head. His hands shook as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Do you know what would have happened if you... Ah never mind. Mind you that the prince is well and went to meet the Emperor."

"Minister... Who was responsible?"

"Do not seek revenge so early, my son. There is still time." He smoothed out the smothering bed sheets. Yogi proceeded to squirm.

"Minister, there is no time. The prince's life is at stake now! There could be spies in the kingdom, waiting in the shadows." The Minister shook his head before he even finished.

"What are you going to do? You can't move your left arm. You're handicapped now. Besides, the royal guards will mind that problem. There is nothing to worry about."

Yogi felt his face go cold. He had shifted to the edge of the bed, with the reluctant help of the Minister after feeling pity for Yogi.

"My arm is what?" He stated dryly, looking him dead in the eye. His arm wasn't as numb as the Minister implored it to be. It felt heavy, but he could twitch some fingers without feeling too much pain. It wouldn't be damaged forever, he was sure of it. A jolt of fear hit him in the gut of his stomach.

"Your arm is temporarily immobile. What could you possibly do?" The Minister was unrelenting.

Yogi suddenly felt faint. He slowly laid back down.

"Perhaps you're right." Yogi murmured, and with a grunt, put his head back onto the hard pillow. It was an ivory box- probably a gift that someone from the royal family had given in condolence. The Minister gave a relieved sigh to his whisper and said,

"I'll have someone send you something to eat; you must be starving. Sleep, for now." He swept his robes up and left quickly, as if in a hurry.

After the food had arrived and he found that no servants were going his way, he sat back up, with quite some effort, and tried to put his robes back on. He gingerly tied his shirt over his arm and slid his other one through the sleeve. He looked silly, but he didn't give it a second thought. He shuffled out of the room and silently edged towards the prince's room. He hastily walked past the small pond and tip toed around the room. The doors were broken down and removed. There was nobody in it. The chunks of wood from the floor were removed. The bodies had been moved as well. Shards of oak still sparsely covered the rugs. He wondered where the prince was staying, if they weren't going to clean up the wood and repair the room immediately. Yogi wandered around the desks and hoped that no one would catch him. There was nothing in the room, even when he kneeled to peer at the carpet. His blood was gone. The room had returned to normal, with the exception of the doors that had been amputated from it's hinges. What had happened? He couldn't find anything. Not a hair, not a scrap of fabric. He turned and peered into the small pond. Nothing. They had dragged the men out and had already replanted the pond with pink, delicate lotuses. He entered the room again and sat on the silk bedding. He tried to come up with a list of suspects. Who, who, would want to kill Gareki in this time of peace? There were many suspects. Himself, the Minister, The Emperor, the Historian, the courtesans, Mei Li? The Minister was a prime suspect, due to his higher power and absence. The court could say that the minister used the young nobleman to lure Gareki into the room and to hinder him with alcohol. Gareki was unconscious for that latter half of the assassination because he had been knocked to the floor. Yogi stared at the sheer blue silks that hung from the royal bedding. It was untouched, just as the scattered papers were on the prince's desk.

Both men sat rigidly at the table. Gareki's dark eyes glowered without a tinge of remorse or hesitation. With a fast hand, the Emperor sipped from his oolong tea, his irritation leaking from the Emperor's usually well controlled facade. The Emperor did not glance up until Gareki planted his cup onto the table with a harsh clang. Mei Li jumped from her seat. She fanned herself with a handkerchief. The Emperor glared back at Gareki.

"Come now, today is a joyful day. We are to discuss the wedding plans." He sighed, his dark eyes intense as he eyed Gareki. The prince shifted his arm; it was crushed when he had been slammed to the ground. It wasn't broken, but bruised rather badly.

"There will be no wedding until the perpetrator is convicted, thus, I do not give my consent until he or she is found," Gareki expounded persistently, his good hand clenching.

"Nonsense. Why would you wait?" The Emperor said, scoffing with a wave of his hand.

"Everyone would be at the wedding. If assassins were to plan to invade the Kingdom on that day, it would be a massacre." He said, tapping the table to his words.

"We could have the wedding in secret. There is no need for a large celebration." Mei Li chirped, her hands tightly folded in her lap. Her ebony hair swayed, her dark eyes shined.

"We are royalty, we do not do petty things such as secret weddings. The public would think that you were some sort of peasant unqualified to be queen. Why in such a hurry anyway? I'm not going to die just yet." He shot bitterly at her. He in fact was testing her. She leaned back, mouth agape.

"What? No, that's not what I wanted at all. I wouldn't dare." She got out of her seat and kneeled, hoping that her words wouldn't get her killed. Gareki was silent. He wanted her to kneel for a while. She was the one that Gareki was suspicious of. She hadn't said a word of the event, other than a muffled condolence for Yogi, as if he had already died! She gave him the headlong stare, as if they were already equals. He almost spat at the ground in disgust. This whore!

"Please... Sit down." He murmured, lending her a hand. She blushed and glanced upwards when she took it. Her hands were cold and white; a sulphur-like poison. He sat her down and turned back. She gave him a coy smile. Vehemently he turned to the ruler of the lands.

"Do try this plum cake. Emperor." The Emperor, disgusted by the prince's actions, waved away the mere thought of sweets. He did not have a sweet tooth. The Prince turned to Mei Li.

"Please, try one..." He said, offering her one. She looked up and shot him a persistent smile.

"Of course." She stood back up, as if forgiven by the gaffe, and delicately plucked one between two fingers. She bit into the sweet rice flour. With a smile she pointed to the dessert again.

"They are very good, please, have one as well." She was testing Gareki this time.  
Gareki could afford to say no. He gave a slow shake of his head to the girl before turning his attention back to the looming figure now dark in the face. The girl hid a smirk behind her handkerchief as she sat back down, her legs now crossed under the table in vexation.

"You. Why are you so persistent in resisting marriage? The guards in the palace are plentiful."

"They are obviously poor guards if they cannot even protect one person."

"There are many guards like Yogi. In fact, if you had not been intoxicated, you probably would have put up an even better fight. The problem here may be your alcoholic addictions rather than the skill of the guards."

"Emperor. Do you not find Yogi's efforts heroic? Were his actions in vain? You are not taking the security breach into consideration here, Emperor." Gareki said. He had nothing on his plate, nor drink in his cup. It was a battle that he could not afford to slack in.

"Yogi was skilled in his protection of the Prince." Mei Li interjected, blinking in a flurry to make a point with her long lashes.

"Of course I do not think that he wasted his good effort. He nearly sacrificed his life for the prince. But who has not done so in the past? The assassins easily could have gone for me, or the Minister. It sought you, so you consequently put us in danger as well." The Emperor stated, his plate full to the brink of falling with salty meats and sauces. He did not eat from his plate at all.

"Not all men would bravely fight against thrice their number. And you talk of him in past tense. He is not yet dead," Gareki chuckled, his voice grave.

"True. If it is commemoration you want, he will have it.

"...I ask for position and respect." Gareki said. He was clawing at the walls of his heart. What if Yogi didn't actually want it?

"If respect is what you want, then he shall be my guard! Surely it is of higher standing to protect the Emperor of the High Seas than the Prince of Nothing in Particular?" He sneered, his voice edging ridicule. Mei Li quietly gasped in an attempt to side with the Prince. It was a stupid move. She should have bowed down to the higher superior. Gareki knew that he was now attempting to injure him through his weakness. He pushed the insult aside.

"Oh, if Yogi is not nearly as powerful as the Lord, then he couldn't possibly guard you. In fact, consider it benefaction for humble me to take him in as a veteran guard. Though this might injure his feelings."

"Then he shall be awarded a new ranking."

"Of course. It is up to you." Gareki replied with a venom that he reserved specially for family. He loathed the very image of his father, not because of his power, but because of his character.

"Your wedding will take place next week, Prince."

"Not until the culprit is identified." Gareki growled in agitation. He was not so concerned about the culprit. It didn't matter to him who they were but rather when he could exact his revenge. He'd sweetly call to them as he sliced off their limbs. Perhaps he'd dip them in acid first before peeling their skin off.

They had done harm to Yogi- a friend now, that was ever so close yet so far away. His heart quickened as he turned to the Emperor again. He loomed over him, standing now. His weathered and veined hand was shaking, his face trembling from anger.

"Do you fear death or change?" The Emperor roared, standing from the table and knocking a few expensive dishes in the process. The priceless gifts shattered onto the floor in a thunder, the raining glass and ceramic shocking Mei Li in such a way to gather from her a shriek. Gareki knew where the anger came from, but it seemed so fake. If the wedding was truly important, it would have taken place a long time ago. It would have taken place when they first met.

"I fear for your livelihood, Emperor," Gareki strode backwards, hands apart in mocking respect. "What would happen if something were to happen to you? Yogi is not nearly as strong. You would die a merciless death from those cruel, cruel, men," He said blatantly.

"The autopsy results will be ready at full noon. A council will be held in the West Room at that time. I trust both the honorable Mei Li and the Emperor will take interest in the safety of the palace, and for themselves." The Prince cast a steely glare to the petrified woman; she was frozen in place, clutching the table cloth in terror. He strode out of the hall with a irksome pride that made the Emperor shout with fury at the servants and Mei Li. In the distance, Gareki heard the Emperor call for some poor child to be beheaded, in the name of saving face and honor.

Gareki, after being escorted by his crew to his side of the palace, entered the scene of destruction just across from Yogi's room. The sun had just begun He entered to survey the scene once more before the meeting. He reached for the paper on the table. It was the financial plans for the following year, lying in broad daylight. The assassins were not after any documents; if they were after them, they would have claimed them before killing him. From their route of action, they would have left without grabbing any of the papers. They had entered with only one goal in mind: Kill the prince and leave no witnesses. A breeze of the wind fluttered the silk curtains in the back. The figure of someone was lying on his bed. He skillfully skirted the scene where the assassination was attempted and silently drew the sword by the mahogany shelf. The sword made almost no sound as it escaped its shell. He walked closer to the uncovered man. It was Yogi. He was sleeping on his wounded arm- stupid and careless. Blood was seeping from the bound fabrics on his wound, and he was sweating from pain. As he rolled over, Gareki noticed that he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Yogi's crystal eyes parted slightly and seemed to process that someone was standing over him. As if taken over by a demon, he was taken in a sudden spasm that rocked his body. His golden hair was disheveled, locks in his fearful face. It contorted in pain as his clutched his arm, the wound bleeding even more profusely. The blood seeped through the bandage and crawled up the parts of his robe that it had previously failed to reach.

"G-Gareki, I'm sorry- I... I passed out after getting over here." He attempted to kneel as per etiquette, but Gareki lifted him by the elbow gently back onto the bed. He silently eyed the blood. It was because of him. Chills of guilt ran through him. It gave him a familiar tug in his stomach; the plummeting feeling of desolation.

"Your wound has opened up again, Yogi. Let me treat it for you." Gareki said, voice steady but heart rapid. He could not forget the face of surprise that he made. As well as the face of pain that followed. It was almost as if his pain sourced from his presence. If he hadn't arrived, perhaps Yogi would have continued sleeping. Was dying the only escape from this harsh world? He turned to hide any emotions that might have shown on his face, be they faces of sadness or passion. With quick movements he drew strips and wine from his shelves, and brought them back. His skin was damp from sweat when he slowly peeled back the bandages. He was thankful that it hadn't been long enough for it to dry and stick to the wound; it would have meant more pain for Yogi. With an experienced hand he wadded the used bandages and discarded them. In silence he cleaned the wound. Yogi gasped and made sounds in his throat at the pain. He was gentle but firm as he held onto his arm. Yogi looked away as he cleaned it, but Gareki heard the occasional hiss. At every sound he hesitated. He wound the clean bandage around his arm, fast but sure. With his teeth he cut the end and tied it up. His face was so close- he could smell the fragrance of flowers on Yogi's skin; he had spent enough time in the palace for it to rub off on him. His breath occasionally swept him, his eyes shot him the occasional shy glance. Gareki gave him a stare that made him look away. He stood up wordlessly and turned, back towards him.

"Be careful next time."

"What of your arm?" Yogi asked, eyeing his clean and neatly done bandage. He noticed the dominant use of his left hand when aiding him.

"It is fine. It's simply bruised." He was silent as he headed towards the door. He leafed through his documents without ever actually looking at them.

Suddenly, Yogi cried out, frantic as he stood up. He had seen the sheets, and they were gruesomely smothered in his blood. It seemed like a scene of murder rather than a place of slumber. With a cringe, Gareki waved it away.

"Someone will discard it." He said, turning to the broken furniture and ripped pelts. Gareki felt powerless. He remembered the Emperor's words. If he had been here by himself, what would have happened? He would have died. Raised in luxury with the occasional training, even with talent, he would have been slaughtered and left on the floor. The stains of blood would have been his. The blood left from the assassins were already gone- if it had been his blood, that evidence would have been erased as well. He wondered if he would have been forgotten just as quickly. In the history books, all that would have been left of him would have been his name by his death date, amongst the other dead offspring that had perished at birth or as infants. His predecessor would gain fame and glory while all that was left of him would be a number and a date. Gareki walked by the pond and peered into the water. It was pristine and beautiful. The unconscious bodies of the attackers were gone, lugged out, and the flowers, oh, the flowers, were more beautiful than ever.

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AN: Thanks for reading! Your support really pushes me on.


	5. Broken Petals

**Title:** Broken Petals

**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval. In no way am I affiliated with Karneval or the author, Mikanagi Touya.

**Warning:** High content of death and murder.

**A/N:** Wow, it's been a long time. A huge, huge, thanks to everyone who has been interested in my writing ever since I've started this story. I apologize in advance if my writing style has changed over time as there have been long break periods between chapters. Please enjoy and thanks again!

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At high noon the prince and the noble entered the practitioner's holding rooms. The entrance porch had a pleasant shadow that cast serene flitterings over the terrace. It felt, however, like the false entrance of Heaven that truly led to Hell. As soon as they stepped into the wooden boundaries a violent smell instantly blinded their senses. They muffled their faces to rid themselves of the horrid stench. Both Yogi and Gareki raised their sleeves to block it out. The rancid odor lingered all over the mortician's rooms even though the bodies had already been covered up. The palace must have saved kilos of gold from the lack of preservatives used. Gareki felt anger flame up. If the bodies were not preserved, how would they investigate? The bodies were in the center of the room, and wrapped in torn strips of used clothed. The two quickly shuffled past the dirt floor into the sitting room. A large folding screen blocked the view, but did nothing for the gagging taste of the air. In the corner of the small sitting room was a jar full of Calla lilies. They seemed ostentatiously inappropriate. The person who put the flowers there did not care about the multiple corpses that passed through the morgue each day, but rather placed them there for aesthetic pleasure. Gareki seated himself across from the undertaker. The man had a strict face; no emotions seeped from his well held mask. He didn't let show his recognition of the prince but Gareki in contrast gave the man a curt nod. Yogi gave Akari a friendly smile. It was reserved in nature, however; he had learned of the reproaches of too much sincerity. Gareki had been in the morgue before; he wished for those memories to leave him be, but they hit him full force when he saw the blonde-haired man. He cleared his throat in sudden emotion.

"Akari. What are your evaluations thus far?"  
"Your majesty. Shall I wait until the Emperor arrives before divulging you of the details?"  
"Have you not a report?" Gareki shot back, eyes cold. He was tired of the palace's allegiance to the old man. Akari nodded and handed him a nearby scroll.  
"I trust you have copies," Gareki said, as he hid the scroll in Yogi's sleeve. Yogi looked up, somewhat startled. Why was he giving him the paper? Did he receive his trust?  
"Of course, your majesty." Akari bowed, at the same time that the Emperor's call was made. They stood up in respects and the loud strides of many men came marching through. The Emperor had his eyes shielded from the dead with a large fan. One of his pages held it for him. Yogi and Akari kneeled, while Gareki did a half bend.  
"You still wish to continue disrespecting me?" The Emperor boomed, his eyes glued to the prince's half kneel. The Emperor's voice rumbled the wooden panes of the room."Sir, the prince may be tired-" Akari claimed, his voice low.  
"Silence, fool. Do you wish to die?" He shot, instantly silencing the coroner.

A tense moment due to the clash of power passed. He paid no attention to Yogi; it seemed that he didn't care whether he was there or not. The old man reclined into the rich mahogany seat with great grace, the fall of the heavy lining of his robes on the silk cushions the only real sound that he made when seating himself.

"What is the evaluation?" He directed to the corpses to the other side of the lacquered screen. His voice was listless and although the beads of sweat said otherwise, he acted like he didn't care at all. In truth, the perspiration was bleeding through the heavy silks and his bony hands were clammed into fists.  
"We have thoroughly searched the exterior of the bodies, " Akari responded, face low and body hunched. "There are no needle marks or injection points that lead us to suspect injected drugs."

The Emperor let out a small sigh of relief. "Good. This young man must be a great warrior then." He quickly stated, referring to the startled Yogi. Yogi's eyes shot to Gareki, but Gareki had his gaze intensely fixed on the Emperor's face.

"Thank you, Emperor." He responded, bending in a small bow.  
"There is a problem, however," Akari said urgently.  
"What has occurred?" The Emperor asserted, issuing for the boy who was holding the fan to reposition himself. The Emperor could almost see the white starch sheets through the cracks of the lacquered screen and the corpses caused cold sweat to flash down his neck.  
"We have checked the bloodstream for the possible content of poison, and all four of them have evidence of such."  
"Poison? Why and how?" Sweat began to sheen on the Emperor's paper white face.  
"It makes sense. Many spies are commanded to kill themselves if they are caught in order to prevent secrets from being leaked out." Gareki shivered from the cruelty of the person that was behind the scheme.

"Did you see them take anything before they died, Yogi?" Gareki asked.  
"No, I did not," he said, his eyebrows furrowed in a rare moment of uncertainty. He tried to reflect on the night. Everything was kind of blurry to him but he didn't remember any strange actions of self-injection or pill taking.  
"Strange. The poison must have been weak enough for them to take a dosage before entering your chambers."  
"If it was weak, they would have shown signs that would lead to death."  
"Perhaps the poison was meant to make them weaker- To send even elite warriors, four is not enough. Could their leader have slipped them the poison beforehand?"  
"What is the point of sending in a half-assed attempt on my life? Was it a warning?" Gareki posed, voice low.  
"It is possible." Akari replied.  
"There weren't any signs left at the scene, however. Everything was either in tatters or intact, no letters or anything were left," Gareki interjected, pondering over what goal they had in mind.  
"Have you pinpointed the exact poison?" Gareki demanded.  
"It is a natural poison, and is thus harder to determine. We might have to use human subjects to find the specific extract." Akari's voice darkened.

The Emperor paused. "Are you sure that a poison was involved?" Gareki's eyes flashed. He didn't understand why the Emperor hesitated. A death for him was simple- he could crush a life as fast as a horse could swat at a fly with its tail.  
"We have conducted the silver alloy test, and the blood of the corpses matched the suspicions." Akari said.

"Show me the proof," The Emperor said quickly, his voice growing more and more desperate. Yogi looked around in confusion. Gareki was running his fingers through his jet black hair. Gareki's mind was clocking every possible reason for why the Emperor was so doubtful. Proof? He didn't ask for proof when his mistresses blamed the servants for breaking a priceless jade bracelet. He didn't ask for proof when the council told him that they needed more taxes because the roads were in disrepair. He now asks for the proof himself, as if he denied the possibility of poison being a cause of death.

Akari stood up to reach for the materials. He returned with a tarnished silver needle that he held onto with a piece of cloth. Yogi shifted in his seat; was he not as strong as he thought? When he reflected back on that night he deemed it true. The men that he attempted to disable had only been slightly injured. Even the man that splashed backwards into the pond could have climbed back up onto his feet. Even the broken lotuses that bent over rebounded and flickered back to their original positions, though their petals bent out of shape. A decent soldier would have been able to stand back on his feet. The painful reminder in his shoulder told him that at the very least the soldiers had brawn. He flinched at the memory of the glaring metal jutting out from his flesh. Yogi looked up to the cold glare of the old man. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the chilling voice.

"What are you doing here?" He acted as if he had just noticed his presence. Before Yogi could say anything the prince threw his words in.  
"He's going to consult with us. He was witness and defender; we have just discussed this," Gareki's was soft.  
"Where is the Minister?" He looked around blankly, his hands out in an unnecessary sweeping gesture.  
"Why does he need to be here?" Gareki asked.  
"He is responsible for this young man." The Emperor concluded. Gareki fell silent. The Emperor had reason. He turned to a nearby servant.  
"Fetch the minister. Make sure he doesn't faint when he gets here," the Emperor said. In formal jurisdiction, the Emperor was not allowed to view corpses. He got around the ancient law by having the young boy tote the large fan around, but the half-dead emperor could still sense and feel the presence of the bodies on the tips of his hairs and on the nape of his neck. It bothered him to no end, the inevitable approach of death.

Akari tried to stop himself from clearing his throat from the interruption. He simply laid the needle down a few feet from the Emperor. The gray-bearded soul tossed back his robe and outstretched his hand.  
"Be careful-"

The Emperor shot him a sharp glance and gingerly picked it up by the cloth. He brought it close to his face and examined the small black point. He rotated it several times before placing it back onto the table. He didn't understand poisons well but he examined it anyway. He looked for faults in the investigation.

"Where did you prick the man?"  
"The needle was coated with the residue from their mouths immediately after they were found."  
"Why didn't you prick him?" The Emperor objected.  
"His blood was already black. We coated a needle with this as well. Same reaction." Akari brought out a small vessel. Inside was a piece of cloth that was soaking in pool of black blood. The Emperor handled it gingerly.  
"How could poison have left them standing for so long?"  
"The poison must have been consumed or inhaled before entry. A direct injection would have killed them in a shorter amount of time. The amount of poison was low enough to weaken them gradually."  
"Who are the possible perpetrators?" Gareki asked, his arm poised on the desk with a nearby brush.  
"The Mankils are out of the question. Slivak hasn't attempted to insult the empire for two years. All but one of the surrounding countries have been on friendly terms since the beginning of the era..." The Emperor raised his eyes to watch Yogi. He was now very conscious of his presence. He was the assistant to the Minister as an ambassador from that very country. He was in a very precarious position. Was he not the prime suspect now? In fact, he had been with Gareki since his arrival. He watched his every move, his schedule, and was with him when the attackers sprung out. The Emperor was glaring at him from across the table. Akari had his eyes locked in on him as well. Only Gareki was still staring at the white container of blood deep in thought until he saw the Emperor move from his ice frozen position to a slow upright position.

"Yogi..."

"Yes, your majesty." Yogi replied, head low but eyes bewildered. His eyes roamed the mahogany table. Was he going to be slaughtered for being the mastermind? He was powerless. How simple it would be for them to simply kill him right now. If they took him as the infiltrator he would be killed for treason. In fact it was high treason, attempted murder, and possibly many, many other excuses for his execution.  
"Have you any knowledge of the situation?" The Emperor asked, hidden inflections just below the surface of his voice.  
"No, your majesty." Yogi replied, glancing about the room frantically. Did it matter if he said 'no'? He tried to turn to Gareki.  
"He isn't the culprit, I can vouch for that." The dark haired prince said quickly. "If he is then I'll let my life be taken for my own stupidity, but I can bet on my life that he is not the one in charge."  
"Not only is your life on the line, idiot son. I, the Emperor, have to live in this palace as well. What if a corollary or a royal attendee dies under his suspected hands?"  
"He was with me when they arrived. They attacked him as if he was not their own. They did not call out the betrayal when Yogi began to slaughter them one by one."

"Yogi, why did they send you?" The Emperor asked. Yogi smiled with false confidence.  
"I- I don't know, the Minister requires a helping hand at times." Yogi didn't know exactly why he had been included, so he couldn't answer with solid certainty.  
"That is a weak alibi," The Emperor concluded. He swept across the room with his heavy garb.

His movement blew the rancid smell of corpse around the dust filled morgue. Akari remained unfazed but Yogi and Gareki flinched. The fresh scent bubbled in their throats.

"He doesn't need an alibi. He was not involved." Gareki said.  
"Yogi, have you ever been whipped with a spiked leather strap on the back a thousand times over?"  
"Majesty-" Gareki protested hotly, standing up with a sudden fury. His hands were visibly shaking and he quaked from a burst of rage.  
"Shut up! I will not have you disrespect me again," The Emperor turned a boiling red. "Well, Yogi?"

"No, your majesty," Yogi replied, confused by the turn of events.

"I thought not. If you had experienced our special treatment, you would have long been dead." The white-bearded man deadpanned. Yogi sent him a weak smile full of dread. They would torture him until he confessed. After they got him to spit it out they would mercilessly kill him.

A rattling cry came from outside the building. The young page ran back with a group of people and concubines. A man with a gaunt face repeated the same sentence over and over again.

"The Minister is dead! The Minister is dead!"

Yogi stood up in a flurry. No, he couldn't be. He had seen him a few days ago. No, for how long was he asleep? A rivulet of cold sweat developed on his neck.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Emperor asked cooly, his voice tempered and even.

"The Minister from the fourth district is dead. They found him collapsed on the floor." The man said, fidgeting in place and twiddling his thumbs.

Akari quickly bowed.  
"I will go investigate." He sped off with his tools and equipment. Gareki looked towards the door suspiciously, his fingertips still on the table. What did it mean? The Minister was dead. Yogi was a loose thread now, his path and reason for being in the palace rendered pointless. His reason for survival was completely destroyed; he was an extra knight in a game of chess that lingered with no purpose.

"Search him and lock him up," The Emperor's steel words rang. Gareki stepped in front of Yogi.  
"No. He is not the culprit. What is so difficult about understanding the truth?"  
"He is a threat to me and the rest of the palace. Would you like for me to have my throat slit at night?"

Gareki waved away his reason with fearless disgust.

"Yogi is an honest civilian and has no large complex plans to overthrow the kingdom!" Gareki said urgently, without shouting but with frustration.  
"What is wrong with searching him? There is no crime in searching suspects that I point out, unless, you contest my decision?"  
"...No," Gareki said, turning and giving Yogi a short baleful look. It hardened and he turned away to warily watch the men roughly grab Yogi by the arm. They thrust their hands into his robe and emptied the contents. Something clattered to the ground as a man drew out the copy of the murders accounts. On the floor rolled down the Prince's brush. He wanted to retrieve it but the room froze with sudden alarm.  
"Sire! The papers of the morgue...!" The man cried out. The majesty grew enraged and bristled with a mocking anger.

"My! How dare you steal confidential papers from the sacred kingdom! You heinous-" The Emperor spat out.  
"No, I gave that to him just now. He was holding it for further reading, did you not see that Akari?" Gareki hushed, his hand tightly gripping the soldier's arm.  
"... I don't believe I did, your majesty," Akari replied quietly.  
"If anyone should be imprisoned for stealing paperwork it should be me, your majesty, not him," Gareki said, now visibly frustrated.  
"No, by seeing what we test for he will find our weaknesses and discover cunning ways to evade discovery! Do not downplay its importance and the imminent danger from this low-lying filth!" The Emperor roared, flinging down a nearby ink pallet onto the mahogany table and creating accidental art. The black fingers slipped across the wooden surface and dripped onto the lush carpet below. The wispy fur turned into a sickly pitch grass that curled up from its roots.  
"Take him to the fourth quarter," The Emperor rasped, covering his mouth as he coughed from excitement.

Yogi, with his eyes glued to the Emperor's harsh eyes, nudged the brush towards Gareki with his foot as he was grabbed roughly by the Emperor's servants. Gareki reached out but his fingers had no purchase on Yogi's robe. Yogi did not resist and allowed them to pull him away from the black table and Gareki. He looked up and for the first time Gareki had on a defenselessly pale face. He smiled a carefree smile towards him but Gareki's stunned visage hardened just as quickly. He picked up the brush; his hand clenched white around it.

"I'll defend him in trial. What do you think you will find with his death? All that will result from his execution is a bloody platform and more of a threat to your own precious head," Gareki said calmly, leaning heavily on the table with the hand without the brush. He lifted it and stared down at his dark black palm. He closed his hand over the ink tightly.

"If he is gone then one potential threat will be eliminated. If he is the killer then he will be a threat no longer." The Emperor said, now calm.  
"And if he is not the killer?"  
"No harm done. He was a sly little fellow, taking your brush like that. Check his person thoroughly for other things that he has stolen," The Emperor said nonchalantly.  
"Emperor! He isn't a thief, I gave him this brush as a token of familiarity. He is also the assistant to the ambassador; his death on top of the Minister's assassination will create unpreventable war," Gareki said, walking up close to the looming royal. They made lightning eye contact as he reduced the distance. Gareki's body tingled from the electricity between them.

The Emperor's booming laugh made his ears ring. "A priceless gift from the royalty? Giving a senseless gift to a stranger who doesn't even share the same blood? What a disgrace. Furthermore, he is no longer needed. We have no need for peace with his country any longer." The Emperor shot a vapid glower as he marched across the room. A servant threw out the call of honorary departure for his parting. Gareki felt a desolate sense of weakness and hopelessness. They were going to kill Yogi for sure. He had a vision of his head rolling onto the wooden board and the dull and wet thumps of his cranium landing on the platform. The golden haired skull would roll clumsily and the same sweet smile would freeze onto his face- Gareki stopped himself before he could fully explore that concept. His heart pounded painfully, as if he had run the entire distance from one terrace to the other with bricks strapped to his back. But wait, did the Emperor say that they would no longer need an ambassador? Yogi's homeland was sure to be infuriated with the death of the Minister. War could perhaps be waged with this tide. Gareki quickly fumbled out of the door and began to walk to the Minister's quarters. It started as a fast-paced walk but he found himself sprinting on the stone pavement. He needed to see the body. He shot for the scene of the crime to find out who was behind it- accompanying Yogi, as much as he wanted to, would do nothing. He vowed to behead and make the killer pay for injuring his precious flowers, those rooted in water and mud and those not. He imagined Yogi being lugged away, his arms sore from being half dragged and half thrown across the courtyards. He saw them now; the concubines giggling, the shame and confusion that Yogi would experience under the hot sun.

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**AN:** Hello everyone! I'd like to thank all of the new readers that have favorite, reviewed, and followed my work. I really can't give enough thanks for everyone that has supported me thus far. It really means a lot to me as this is a growing experience that I'd like to expand upon. I realize that the anime for Karneval came out recently, which spiked up a lot of interest in the series, so I'm very glad to see new readers! A huge sorry to all the people who have been waiting for this chapter; I've had a lot of things to juggle and it boiled down to writing less. Thanks for reading! A new chapter will be out soon, now that summer is close.


	6. Wilting Ash

**Title:** Wilting Ash

**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval. In no way am I affiliated with Karneval or Mikanagi Touya.

**Warning:** Strong use of violent and depressing themes.

**AN:** Hello everyone, I kind of kept my promise and did not wait for more than two months before writing this. Summer has been busier than I predicted and I am being swept away by the days. I hope you enjoy this chapter... I think this will be the most criticized of anything I've written so far, due to the darkness of it, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

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Gareki stormed over the cobbled pathways and through wooden halls to the concubine's quarters. The embarrassed yells of girls pierced the rooms as Gareki violently searched for the body of the Minister. He whirled through the building and desperately searched for anyone that seemed suspicious. He did not spot a single human who seemed in a hurry to get away. Small critters darted into bushes and away from the storm of feet. He entered a small connecting garden to reach a guest room that was guarded by two henchmen. The gardenias outside were freshly planted; the soil had been turned and watered. The men stood at the door in silence. A young girl was sitting on the wooden steps beside them, shivering in fear. Her face was pale and unblemished, her gown a light lavender. She held the ends of her long sleeves ever so delicately. She seemed to have been a rather popular concubine. The guards were ogling her flesh like hungry hyenas just in reach of a meal. Gareki only knew of the girl because his father had previously recommended her to him as a sex partner. He offered to share valuable merchandise that Gareki instantly rejected; he didn't want to share a girl with anyone, be it other men or his father. The mere thought made him gag. If Yogi had been offered to him, would he have turned him away as well...? Gareki shook his head at the thought- it was no time for such things.

"The royal highness has arrived!" The men called out, kneeling to attention. The young girl threw herself into the customary greeting.

"Has anyone entered or left the building since the body was found?" The prince was curt.

"Only this girl here. She found the Minister on the floor," The man on the left replied, eyes sharp. He was noticeably shaken.

"Has anything been touched?"

"Don't think so, not since we got 'ere," The man on the right whispered the words. In his eyes was enough fear to run He was quavering like the girl; he could not control the tremors and he could not claw out the sight of death from his eyes.

"Stay here," Gareki said, cautiously parting the curtained entrance. He peered into the room and breathed in the smell of death. The heat had not yet festered the flesh of the corpse.

He looked away from the body and moved around the room, quickly trying to take in the surroundings. The sight of the corpse moved him; he lost his concentration and could not remember why he was there. It had been a while since Gareki had truly looked at a corpse. The bodies that Gareki saw from before were those of men he did not know, victims of war and political turmoil. This time it was the body of a man who he had spoken to just recently, a man who he saw healthy and buoyant a night ago. Gareki pulled down the mirrors and flipped them to prevent ghosts from entering the frames and to stop them from peering into the human world. The sight of dead bodies reflected in mirrors simply made his skin crawl. He finally turned to the corpse. The Minister was facing the doorway and his arms were outstretched. Gareki bent down and felt his face. It had already begun to become stiff. His core was also taut. The rigor mortis that set in so quickly implied that in his last moments he was pulling forwards and attempting to heave himself to the door. Gareki walked towards the Minister's cluttered table. A porcelain bottle of wine had been spilt and a plate of golden-brown cakes were poised elegantly on a doily. Gareki zoomed in on the crumbs. The Minister had recently eaten one.

"Where is the mortician? Get Akari in here right now!" Gareki hollered, pulling the body and flipping him. A trail of dark blood lined the corner of his mouth. It was the basic and telling sign of poison working its way through the insides of its victim. Gareki stood up and from the corner of his eye saw a piece of paper wedged under the doily. He fished it out from underneath and read it in silence.

_I am sorry for the trouble that I have caused._

_I have taken my life in return._

_I now have another life on my hands. Forgive me._

A signature was written beneath. It was almost illegible due to its extreme shakiness. Gareki barely made out the official name of the Minister. A suicide? Gareki couldn't believe it. Why would he choose such a painful mode of death? Could an orchestrator have held the Minister at the tip of a sword? A murderer might have threatened him with his own life. Did the Minister choose to die of poison rather than at the heel of a weapon? The horror from a weapon makes poison the lesser of two evils. Why would the murderer leave the plate of cakes at bay for the investigators to see? Gareki did not understand the intent. Did that mean that indirect murders were going to be more prevalent now that the secret method had been revealed? Gareki opened the curtain and pulled the girl aside. She twisted her arms in his tight grasp and struggled, her mouth in a tight grimace.

"What did you see when you walked in?" He said in a quick whisper.

"H-he was on the floor, already dead. I swear I didn't do anything!" The girl sobbed.

"What is your name?" Gareki asked.

"Yi" She sniffed.

"It's going to work out fine, Yi," Gareki hushed, giving her a small pat on the arm. He did not truly rule out the possibility of her being the killer, but he felt like false comfort would make her easier to question. "Did you see anyone walk in or out of the room when you got here?"

"N-no," Yi claimed, "I was the only one at the guest house."

"Why were you here?" Gareki pressed.

"I was assigned to the Minister. It was my job to please him." She whispered.

Gareki was silent. He did not understand how the murderer had not been seen anywhere. Could it truly have been a suicide? No, the Minister had no reason. He was not a bloodthirsty mastermind who would sacrifice multiple lives all in the hopes of killing one man. The Minister was a short, fat man who simply wanted to eat good food and see beautiful women. Gareki couldn't accept the fact that the man, who seemed gentle and kind, tried to kill him. Perhaps he wasn't the mastermind but simply one pawn who was used by some genius higher up in the ranks.

"Do you know who could have done this?" Gareki asked, playing stupid and pretending that he knew nothing of the note.

"I don't know anything. I just work for the Empire. Please let me go- I didn't do it!" She begged now, her voice inching desperation.

"I know, I know. I need to know who did this horrible thing. You wouldn't want to be wrongly accused, now would you?"

"N-no, of course not!"

"Good. Did the Minister receive any gifts or items while you were here?"

"I don't think so."

"Who is in charge of the Minister's food?"

"T-the kitchen, as they usually are. One of the servants is assigned to his food," she stuttered.  
"Name?"

"Xie Lin. She gets him his meals and snacks. He usually eats in the early mornings for breakfast so he has a snack afterwards- are you going to lock me up?" Her dark eyes were wet. Gareki felt a pity that shocked him. He felt like his father, to have men and women beg at his feet. This girl... if he locked her up over mere suspicion when all she did was walk into the Minister's room, he would be as evil of a person as his father... but then again, was Yogi truly innocent? By that logic Yogi was indeed a liable suspect. What if Yogi was the killer all along? Gareki's arms clenched and a spasm rocked his body. He let go of the girl's arm.

"I'm sorry," Gareki said, his voice hoarse. He turned and motioned for her to be taken away by the two guards. The flick of his arm was such a simple act, yet so deeply satisfying.

"No! No, please, please, no, I promise I didn't do it- I-I'm just a courtesan... please-" She shrieked, clawing at the ground and the edge of Gareki's robe. Her own pink silk ripped and the fake elegance was dropped. Her fragility broke and a rampant, wild woman broke loose, the desperation tearing through her façade as quickly as the blood under the skin of her knees. Gareki realized that he had made a mistake; he couldn't simply doubt Yogi. He was so pure, the creases of his eyes so beautiful. Even if the happiness was forced it wasn't because he was hiding an emotion of the opposite, he simply had a mask that he was required to adopt. What was the difference between Yogi hiding his bitterness and Gareki, hiding his contempt and hatred for court? The flowers used to mask ugly rooms or hideous scents were not evil or corrupt. Yogi could not simply throw out all of his flowers. Gareki could not forget the blossoms.

The girl was pulled away and Gareki's mind spun. Who could have set up this elaborate plan, all to keep their identities secret? Why would they frame the Minister? Yogi had now been taken as a potential culprit. The Emperor, when he got ahold of the news, would take the Minister's death and allegiances and connect the guilt to Yogi. His safety would be hindered and he would most certainly be put to death. Gareki knew that in the mad eyes of the Emperor, even those who shared the same name as a murderer were guilty. In a small scale he would lose Yogi and a few servants, but what about the international relations concerning the countries surrounding the legion?

War would erupt between the Minister's country over the deaths and the accusations. Yogi would be put to death and nationalist anger would engage the lower class and the peasants. Gareki would be hated. His people would burn effigies of him in their yards and spit at the mention of his name. All the animosity would not include the spike in a vapid bitterness towards the dictatorship itself. Gareki, the once loved prince, would find himself in danger from all angles. His subjects would condemn him for things that he did not do. He had already begun his league of hatred with the jailing of the girl, Yi.

Gareki stumbled back into the room and scooped up the cakes. He tossed them into a nearby box. He would take them as evidence to ask the cook, Xie Lin. She must know something about it all. He looked around for anything else. A huddle of sunflowers were bright and sitting in a vase across the room. Gareki did not take them down, although the flowers were inappropriate when paired with the corpse lying on the ground. The tablecloth was skewed and the dripping wine reminded him of the ink that splashed over the table.

The royal fanfare trumpeted through the corridors of the palace gardens. A man yelled out the arrival of the majestic Emperor. A large, open fan was carried by a young servant and he proceeded in front of him. All that could be seen of the Emperor was his long heavy robe below the waist. Above was a painted dragon, twisted around two glorious mountains, locked in furious combat with a harrowing phoenix. It was the ultimate mask. A disguise that embodied the soul of a brave warrior while meekly hiding the eyes of one too weak to accept the true horrors of life. Gareki approached the figure quickly and out of habit kneeled. In a beat he stood at the sight of Akari. The Emperor did not acknowledge his presence. He quickly recapped the corpse's position and the tension that had been in the Minister's muscles to Akari. He gave him his suggestions; his insight of what could have happened.

"Your highness, it seems to be like a suicide," Akari said, unhappy with his conclusion but having no other choice.

"The man was poisoned," Gareki said.

"He wrote a note," Akari challenged.

"He was forced," Gareki pushed on, looking through the dragon fan in search of the Emperor's eyes. The Emperor did not allow any slips in his mask to be felt out.

"How do you know?" Akari said.

"He attempted to escape afterwards, in search of help. It is the only explanation for why he would consume a poison and then proceed to crawl for help instead of waiting for death to catch up to him," Gareki concluded.

"What if he simply had second thoughts? Men have second thoughts when they make important decisions, your Highness." Akari asserted, his brows furrowed in thought.

"What are you implying?" Gareki shot.

"Enough," the Emperor boomed, "With the Minister as the culprit I am now in a truly inconvenient position. War is eminent and all you men can do is dilly dally with insignificant details. What will I tell my council? The ambassador is dead and no doubt that they have already received word that there has been attempted murder."

"The messages have been relayed already, your Majesty. A reply will arrive by dusk tonight," A small servant said. He turned and added, "We were remorseful and angry in our correspondence."

"Good. good. That is exactly how we are feeling right now." The Emperor dabbled, wiping his sweat with a red handkerchief. He wondered where he had placed his fifteenth jade ring. Upon inspection of his fingers he found it on his pinky finger.

"Check his entrails and stomach contents immediately," Gareki said, turning away from the Emperor's mad ideas.

"I cannot, not until it is declared truly a murder. Too much evidence leads me to think that it was not the act of another man."

"Use your common sense... If we do not investigate this body soon we will find ourselves drowning in a teeming pile of corpses much fresher and many times more hideously pungent. Do you wish to join that pile?" Gareki muttered, close with piercing dark eyes.

"Are you threatening me?" Akari whispered back, his significant height advantage imposing on the Prince.

"I simply chronicled the future of the palace, which happens to contain the lives of everyone in this kingdom. War will spread to the outer edges of the palace. Invasions have already begun, if you couldn't tell, and they will worsen." Gareki said, quiet and calm. Akari gave him a stare but a small sigh escaped his lips in submission. Why was it so hard for Gareki to achieve the same respect as the Emperor?

"I will open his stomach for the sake of scientific reassurance. You believe that it was a poison that was consumed. Have you checked his bloodstream yet?" Akari pushed.

Gareki paused. "No, I have not," he said. Akari pushed past him with a small bow and rushed to the corpse. The heat had sped up the rate of which the rolling stench poured out into the room. Akari paid it no mind and stabbed the man with a silver pin that was similar to the one that was used before. Gareki looked again to the Emperor.

"When was the last time that you have entered battle, my son? Oh, we musn't be too hasty with war quite yet, shall we? That wedding was supposed to take place first. To have war first and then a marriage would be ignorant- a war wedding is much more sensible, no?" The Emperor rolled, striding away with the large dragon still hiding his visage.

"I will not marry that girl," Gareki growled.

"You already have," The Emperor threw back, an elderly venom creeping past the silk screens. He had no time to deal with children who refused to accept the formalities and functions of life. Gareki did not understand why the Emperor chose that girl to be his wife. She had no connections that he knew of. Her only link to royalty was the Emperor himself and that was mainly because she must have been good in bed. He would be forced to procreate with her and he'd have no choice whatsoever. She would eventually sleep with all the men in the palace until his son would most likely be the product of a whore and a servant... and similarly he was of no heritage as well. His mother was an elegant woman. She did not love him, for he was not hers to love, but she guided him when times were complex. She taught him the art of thievery. Before she became the powerful concubine of the Emperor she was a lowly thief, one of the best pickpockets on the streets. The Emperor slept with many women at the same time, however, and Gareki was conceived. She eventually died of some unknown disease.

"There is poison in his blood. It turned black faster than the other poison though," Akari said.

"They must have been trying out something stronger, so that there would be less of a struggle. Is this enough to pursue the chef?"

"Yes... but why would the killer use a more concentrated form of the poison?" The mortician asked.

"A lead. It was so that the evidence would point to a single person," Gareki said.

"Not the Minister?" He replied.

"No." Gareki said firmly.

"Then who?"

"I don't know," Gareki said, sighing through his nose. The mortician once again entered the curtained room and Gareki watched as he dug through the dead man's clothes. He drew out a small fabric pouch. The mortician slowly opened it and poured out the contents onto the table. It was a fine powder, black as gun powder tea.

"Here... the poison was stuffed into his sleeve," Akari said, voice unsteady, as he started to gingerly coax the small amount of powder back into the pouch.

"Can you test that?"

"With living subjects perhaps," Akari said. Gareki was silent once more. He had been reduced to a murderer, just like the original killer. Was his only choice to destroy more creatures of

"Can you substitute animals?" Gareki said hoarsely, grasping at the few straws that he had left. He pressed his fingers together tightly.

"Yes, I can try," The man said, standing up neatly and tucking the pouch into a

"Then do it," Gareki said, as he walked out of the gardens of hidden erotica and sensual desire. The women who moaned even in the afternoon made the corridors so warm that the Prince couldn't imagine that the people inside kept the doors closed shut. He figured that they didn't mind. Gareki immediately thought of the the imprisonment of Yogi. Would they toss him into the guttered and trenched shit holes below the ground or would they keep him in a respectful room reserved for those of high position? Unless the kingdom received word from the neighboring country, they would treat him like a prisoner of war. Even if the Empire received a plea, the Emperor would never have mercy. The old man would use the heart-wrenching pain that he "experienced" when he saw his son on the ground as an excuse to call a major war. Gareki shook his head to clear the lack of common sense that revolved around him. Why was everyone so rash? Why were the greedy hearts of the royalty so quick to jump to conclusions? He felt sweat drip down his forehead as he finally reached the outside pavilion. The sun had begun to ease its powerful rays but the Prince breathed heavily from experiencing so much life and death all at once. He did not wish to use the sedan that was waiting for him. He waved the servants away and sped towards the other side of the buildings. The prince replayed the name over and over in his head so that he wouldn't forget. Xie Lin. Xie Lin. If it was truly her doing would she still be in the kitchen? If she was responsible for everything, the attack included, would she be idiotic enough to stick around?

The Prince entered the pavilion. It was one of the larger kitchens that provided the foods for feasts and for the royals. Chickens and cows scrambled around in the outside yards; dirt and dust surrounded the area and hung in the air like a heavy fog. His nose crinkled at the smell of excrement. Inside the scents differed wildly. Death lingered under the smell of cooked meat. Blood washed onto the floor and mixed with urine. The repulsive scents of decay and rot was barely hidden by the smell of herbs and sautéed tenderloin. No fanfare announced his arrival but as soon as he was seen the workers stopped and bowed.

"Welcome, your Highness." They called. He heard the confusion in some of their voices. He could imagine the fear and the thoughts that were passing through their minds and a false sense of power entered his own voice.

"Who here goes by Xie Lin?" He asked loudly, over the sound of boiling water and sizzling pans. There was no response. The girls who looked up in fear let out sighs of relief. The ones called out by palace guards and officials usually faced some sort of punishment, and they were thankful to have their names kept secret and enshrouded. Gareki would probably never learn their names and it was impossible to have known them all. Many would be tossed out and many would be killed for being suspected of crimes such as thievery. Gareki narrowed his dark eyes and his serious face tightened.

"Does no one wish to stand?" Gareki questioned, his voice dark but steady.

"She isn't here, your Highness," a courageous girl chimed.

"You," Gareki called, and the girl who had spoken, stood with quavering knees, "Where is she?" Gareki stepped closer.

"She might be in her room. I don't know,"

"Lead me to her quarters," Gareki said, and stepped outside in wait of the girl to lead him. The girl, though scared, was brave enough to follow. She had feathery hair and was rather average in terms of attractiveness. Her cooking skills must have been extraordinary, to be able to enter the palace as a servant. When servants entered the palace they usually were judged in terms of beauty. They walked around the building, the girl in front, obediently leading him. The servant's quarters were surprisingly clean. The pavement was grassy and weed-ridden, but he paid it no mind. The building was empty, and the corridors were deathly still. As they started to enter deeper through the maze of rooms, a familiar smell pierced the Prince's nose. It was the same horrific smell of death and decay. The girl began to cry silently as they neared the door. She gave a breathless shriek when she parted the curtains to see the face of a girl, several feet above the ground, with eyes wide open. The lifeless corpse circled around in the same space, feet dangling and mouth aghast, hands hooked onto the rope, caught between the weight of her head and the cord that kept her up in the air. The girl began to whimper and cry in the hallway, yelling out unintelligible words in horror. Gareki, even though extremely shaken, entered the room while taken by tremors. He got to the vanity dresser before he collapsed into the chair, his limbs shaking uncontrollably. He didn't know if he could handle two deaths in a day. The smell was so overwhelming that bile began to crawl up his throat, pressure building in his esophagus. Flies flew in and out of the crevices in her body that were meant to be kept pure. The body was certainly more progressed than that of the Minister. Gareki tried to grip his hands together but his arms would not hold. He desperately wished that Yogi could have been there to grab his arms and shake sense into him.

He tightly gripped his hair and tried to regain control over his body. The screeching from the girl did not help his sanity either. When he tried to clutch the table for support he sent bottles and hairpins rattling off. The sounds echoed the attack from before- the clattering of the glass made his eyes blurry and he felt himself buzz with adrenaline. He remembered the image of blurred image of Yogi as he leaned down and shook him after he was battered down. He tried to block out the sounds and the sights but he realized that to stay in the same room he would not be able to think. He limped out, hitting the wall opposite the curtain with uncontrolled force. He slammed the wooden wall and tried to slide down the wall with as much dignity as possible.

"Are you alright, your Highness?" The girl asked out of habit. She was wiping away tears of fear.

"Yes, if you could report the death and call the mortician here, that would be perfect," Gareki said quickly. He wanted to hide this vulnerable self. The girl, happy to escape, left immediately with barely a nod. Gareki's hands still shook with sudden and random tremors- he could barely hold his own ears without his fingers slipping. Why was he so weak? So powerless? The mortician would have had no trouble entering the room and snipping the girl from the roof. He could hear the dull thuds the body would make. He stood up and leaned against the wall once more. He had to see if there was a note.

Weakly he opened the fluttering curtains. The body had turned away, the long black hair swinging in front of him. He looked away and searched for paper on the ground, on the table, on the chair, everywhere. The chair. It was standing upright when he entered the room; he tried to remember where it was at first. It was too far away for her to have stood above it. Gareki did not find a note in the room, even after searching for almost half an hour. If she had written a note for them to find, it would either be in the room, or on her person. Gareki caught the girl's staring eyes in the vanity mirror. He felt chills down his back as he slammed his hand onto the mirror and turned. She swung towards him. Gareki couldn't bear the complete honesty that she had in her dead face. He found no traces of a mask. He went around the room and threw heavy blankets over the antiquated mirror. The Prince solemnly shut the dusty wood boards over the window, casting the room into a superficial darkness. Sunlight peeped through the slight cracks in the boards and danced with the slight breaths of wind.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks again for reading! I truly appreciate every single reader. The feedback that I am receiving is fantastic and you are all just great. Even if it wasn't positive, I would appreciate the constructive criticism! Thank you for supporting me. If you like this and haven't checked out my other stories, there is also "Can't Be Too Careful" and "Lost Lambs".


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